I'll be yours when it rains and pours
by JackValentine
Summary: Dean can't take away Sam's pain, but he can do whatever Sam asks him to, no matter how wrong and toxic. WINCEST! No spoilers.
**TITLE:** I'll be yours when it rains and pours

 **AUTHOR:** JackValentine

 **BETA:** deluge

 **PAIRING:** Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

 **RATING:** NC-17

 **GENRE:** Angst, PWP

 **SIZE:** Mini

 **WARNINGS:** Incest, obviously

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Dean can't take away Sam's pain, but he can do whatever Sam asks him to do, no matter how wrong and toxic.

Somewhere along the season 8 timeline, between the 1st and 3rd trials. No spoilers.

I hope you enjoy and I'd appreciate if you left a review!

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything and seek nothing.

Sam was woken up by a clunk of a plate against the nightstand. When he opened his eyes, the dim light of his bedroom in the bunker sliced through him, making him wince and cover his eyes. His temples were pulsing with tension, his sight foggy and head heavy. He almost got used to being so worn out even in the beginning of the day.

"It's almost 2 p.m., you need to wake up."

Sam finally opened his eyes. Dean brought him a cup of coffee and two uneven sunny fried eggs on a plain grey plate. Sam smiled. This reminded him so much of the times when Dad would leave to hunt and wouldn't come for days, and Dean would cook him dinner, often skipping a meal himself. Sam didn't pay much attention to it when he was a kid, but, looking back, he realized that Dean was just a kid, too. And his awkward, but consistent care was a lot and was something to be grateful for.

"Thanks, Dean, I'm not hungry though."

"Yes, you are."

Dean sounded genuinely concerned and worried. Sam knew he looked bad, and he knew that Dean noticed how much worse he was feeling every day.

"You need to eat."

Sam sat up and looked at his brother, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, facing him.

"I'm just... I don't know..."

"I don't know, if I can make it", - he wanted to say, but stumbled and stopped in the middle of the sentence. Of course he can. Or else Dean would have to. Which is not even an option. Before Sam could think of a better ending to the phrase, Dean jerked forward and pulled the other man in, wrapping his arms around Sam's neck, tightly but gently, as he seemed so fragile, like never before, like any unwary touch could hurt him. The younger brother released a sigh of relief, leaned in into the embrace and embosomed Dean, pressing him close.

"I need you, Dean", - he breathed out faintly.

"I know, Sammy, I'm here, it'll be okay, I promise..."

"No, Dean, I... I mean-"

Sam felt Dean's whole body strain as he pulled away. For a moment, a moment of silence, he was just looking Sam dead in the eye, his brows frowned, his green eyes clouded with a weird mixture of emotions that Sam couldn't quite identify, but understood perfectly. Before he could say a word, Dean finally spoke.

"We swore that was the last time."

"I know, but... But don't you-"

"Sam, we swore", - interrupted Dean, his voice hoarse, not with anger, but with desperation. He knew he was giving in already. Sam took a deep breath in.

"So what, Dean?" - he questioned, bolder and firmer, - "We swore so many times. How many last times were there? How many times we did that before we even started trying to quit?"

"I know we did, but it's all my fault, I started that, I must stop that", - Dean cried out, - "It was never your fault, I made you this way, I did it, I-"

Sam grabbed his brother by the shirtfront and yanked him forward. He stopped when their faces were just an inch away from each other. Dean wasn't resisting him. So Sam pulled him all the way in and pressed his lips to Dean's, his mouth soft and relaxed, so that it melted blandly into Dean's, kissing him gently and slowly, caressing him. After a moment Sam pulled away only to see and feel Dean stroking his wrists and forearms affectionately, his eyes closed, his brows furrowed in the bittersweet sensation that was Sam's mouth upon his.

Before Sam could take his time to admire Dean's sore tenderness, the older brother pushed him back and started undressing him, eagerly and impatiently, pulling the clothes off of him and then off himself, too, until they were both naked, heated skin rubbing against skin. Dean's strong, work-worn arms grabbing Sam from underneath, his eyes looking fixedly, point-blank into Sam's flushed face as Dean thrust his aglow dick between his little brother's legs, Sam's cock brushing fleetly against Dean's abs. Sam's thighs strained, pushing down on Dean's, his arms holding on to his brother's shoulders desperately, they were still.

Dean's ragged breaths upon Sam's jaw quickly turned into a rough, wet kiss as Dean jammed his mouth onto Sam's, then planting hasty, yet tender kisses upon Sam's face, his chin, his neck; Dean's hands traveling all over him, his nape, his shoulders, and then, most deliberately, his lower back, stroking and caressing so softly and affectionately.

"Sammy... My little Sammy..." - he breathed out, insane, swamped by his morbid obsession.

So wrong, so dark, so perverse, yet so aching and absolutely unbearable. His little Sammy, always so fragile and defenseless, it was Dean's only purpose to protect, to uphold, to shield his little brother. And so Dean did, always, forever. Whether it was the little tiny Sammy playing with his toy airplane that Dean would look after. Or the lanky early teen Sammy that the young and green Dean would scold and whose unripe, verdant body Dean would quietly, hopelessly desire to the point where it hurt and drove him crazy. Or the all-grown-up college-student obstinate Sammy who Dean would miss deadly. Or the present Sammy who Dean, after all those years, finally had all for himself. His Sammy, after all the heart he had given, after all the pain he had suffered. His Sammy, his pure, his golden, selfless love, his little brother, his question and conclusion. His Sammy, his biggest sin, his darkest desire, his dirty, dirty, dirty, perverse, unhealthy weakness. Now Sammy wanted him, too. But it was wrong, so wrong. Every time Dean would pin Sammy to the springy backseat of the Impala and rock back and forth to the sweet music of his blissful moans, every time Dean would let Sammy suck him off under the blanket, gasping and gripping on his hair, silently begging for mercy and sweet release, every time Dean would push Sammy against the wall and give him everything he can take, it was heaven. With the aftertaste of hell.

Dean started moving his hips at a slow, steady tempo and felt Sam strain and relax again to the rhythm of his thrusts, Sam's eyes shut, his big, muscular body flustered and pliant.

"Come on, Dean", - he whispered.

The obedient big brother didn't have to be told twice. He stood up on his knees, lifting Sam up with his back rested against the headboard, hoisting him even deeper on Dean's juiced up dick, making him let out a long, delighted moan. That beautiful sound worked magic on Dean, so he groaned quietly, too, as he started moving faster. The headboard banged repeatedly on the wall generating the delightful tune of ardent sex. Sam's long legs flailed wider to the sides, kicked the cup of cold coffee on the nightstand and sent it flying across the room; it shattered into pieces as it smashed against the floor. The two fevered men didn't even notice it, their bodies rocking in unison, their hands touching and gripping and scratching everywhere they could reach.

Dean squeezed Sam's butt with his both hands and felt Sam's palms on the back of his head just for a second before he kissed Dean's wet lips already swollen from kissing and biting, then sliding his right hand down to push his own cock forward so that the tip was pressed against Dean's torso. Sam threw his head back, exposing his neck to Dean's impatient, eager caress.

"Just don't stop, please, please", - Sam pleaded.

Dean wasn't going to stop. Sam's heady whisper turned him on so much that he wanted to go faster, to go harder, but managed to contain himself and obeyed, continuing at the same pace and the same angle, listening to Sammy's spastic sighs, whines even, that his screams turned into, as he gasped for air every time Dean's cock pounded his sweet spot.

"I'm a... I'm about to..." - Sam uttered, just before his muscles constrained in the final shudder.

Dean felt his dick squeezed even harder in the tight rim of muscles, and then the warm dribble spreading down his stomach. Sam's body eased off, heavy in Dean's arms. He leaned forward and buried his face in his little brother's neck, inhaling the smell of his hair, of his sweat, the smell of sex, the smell of Dean upon his skin, and pulled out, coming in two lingering spasms, his hands gripping on Sam desperately.

Dean took three loud deep breaths before finally letting go off his brother.

"I'll bring a towel", - he muttered and moved intending to get up.

"Dean."

Sam called his brother's name, making him stay. He placed his hand on Dean's cheek and, after a moment of hesitation, gently touched Dean's tight mouth with his lips. Sam went for another kiss, but Dean removed Sam's hand off his face carefully.

"I'll go bring a towel", - he repeated.

Dean got up and made his way to the bathroom. He grabbed the first towel he saw and opened the tap, then putting one side of the towel under the warm running water, wiped his stomach and wet the towel again. When Dean was just about to go, his sight fell upon the litter bin. What caught his eye was a tissue covered in deep red spots. It was blood. Sammy's blood. Dean thought he saw Sam coughing blood, but Sam assured him he was okay. Now it was evident that was a lie. The towel dropped onto the tile floor with a slap. Dean heard himself growl in the deepest of despair, as he knocked the glass rack under the mirror out of its place. It smashed into pieces, the glass with a toothbrush in it dropped into the sink, breaking up in pieces. Dean leaned on the sink heavily, a narrow trickle of blood flowing out of his knuckle along the wet marble and down the drain.


End file.
